by Marsh, Anne
“No.” She eyed his hands, like she was thinking about where he could put them. His dick got harder just imagining the possibilities.
“Good,” he said, satisfaction rumbling in his voice. “That makes this easier. I’m still waiting, baby. Waiting for you to convince me. What are you planning to do for me?”
“Anything,” she repeated.
“Just to be perfectly clear,” he asked, and the air suddenly got real quiet around them, “you’re going to let me fuck that pretty little pussy of yours? And you’re going to let me touch it all I want?”
He didn’t miss her swallow. “Whatever you want,” she repeated.
“Baby,” he said nastily, “no one lets me do anything. I do whatever I want. You willing to please both of us?” He nodded towards Var, who stilled beside him.
“That’s a generous offer,” Var interrupted them. “Can we leave now?”
“That too,” she whispered hoarsely. “Whatever you want—as long as you get me out of here. Just try not to hurt me.” The words tumbled out rapidly. “That’s the other thing I ask.”
She’d obviously heard the rumors about the berserkers and figured correctly that he was more animal than man. Hel. In the heat of battle, when he shifted and his bear half came out to play, it was true. He wasn’t one hundred percent human—and the human part was more mercenary and straight-up killer. He was a dirty bastard, no way around it.
She certainly wouldn’t be pure when he finished with her.
The noise headed their way down the tunnel picked up in volume. “Now,” she ordered, “would be very good, Vikar.”
He didn’t have time to think her offer over further, however, because more guards sprinted towards them, clearly having dug up some courage somewhere. No way would the hired muscle allow the gladiators to break out. To break free.
One hard blow with the handle of his blade and the lock on Pure’s cage broke.
“Come on then.” He held out a hand to her, and she didn’t need inviting twice, latching on and letting him pull her out of the cage.
Vikar flowed to his feet as Var got to work, cutting through the incoming with the blade he’d recently acquired from one of the guards.
Shooting his new companion a look, he put himself between her and danger. This was going to get real ugly. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
Vikar shoved his blade into a newcomer’s stomach. The male’s gun went flying as the dark stain on the uniform spread. One more bastard down. Behind him, he swore he heard Pure’s gleeful laugh. What. The. Hell.
Var shot him a questioning look as they advanced towards the exit. “You sure about this?”
“Yeah.” Vikar didn’t need to look at Pure again to know. He’d touched her, and something in him had recognized the female hugging his back. “She’s mine, Var.”
Var looked like he wanted to argue, but the fighting rage was already tugging at the male, threatening to drown him in the familiar tide of red. “So we get her out of here.”
Vikar’s shock team of berserkers was closer than blood brothers. They’d had each other’s backs, fighting and fucking their way through each sorry day in the centuries since Loki had transformed them. Since they’d lost everything and everyone. Vikar had led them all those years, directing their tide of violence and mayhem where it needed to go. Where it earned them the most coin or the greatest liberties. If Vikar decided he wanted Pure, Var would make sure Vikar had her.
He’d do the same for Var.
As the fight rolled over and around them, he got to work. This, he knew. Fighting was familiar. Fighting felt right, felt good.
“Hang on to my belt. Don’t let go. You decide to let go, I may not decide to stop for you.”
She whispered something that sounded suspiciously like No worries and Sticking tighter than a leech, and he took her through the tunnel and out.
Chapter Two
At first, Pure just rode. Her companion was in the driver’s seat, literally and metaphorically. After he’d gotten them to the surface, she’d found herself waiting on a side street not far from the Strip while her Berserker and his team fought for—and won—the motorcycles from a Hell’s Angels club.
She had a feeling she’d love Sin City. All that pretty glitter and color. She liked looking at the Strip, and it certainly provided excellent cover. Last time Odin had gone strolling down the main drag, he’d been hailed as a spectacular new animatronic statue. Vikar hadn’t given her much of an opportunity to sightsee, however.
After his quick side trip to challenge the Hell’s Angels, he and his men had helped themselves to the losers’ clothing, although she’d point-blank refused to accept more than the biker’s jacket they’d offered her as her share of the spoils. Then they’d mounted up and ridden. Fast. Now, Vikar’s broad shoulders blocked her in view, his leather-wrapped hands gripping the handlebars of the Harley. The quiet purr of the engine eating up the ground as he drove it down the highway was as surreal as the male behind her.
The male who was going to be her lover.
He hadn’t even kissed her yet.
And yet, tonight, he’d take her however he wanted. There wasn’t much she could do about it—she didn’t kid herself about his strength—and she’d given her word. She always kept her word when she could. Two men. Nothing had prepared her for the wash of heat flooding her when his gold eyes had looked her over as he’d considered having sex with her and sharing her with his companion. That sensation was new.
Without knowing anything more about her, he wanted her. She’d expected the vulnerability, but the sheer eroticism of giving him carte blanche was stunning. He’d touch her. Taste her. Her nipples stiffened against the worn cotton lining of her corslet. She’d lied to Vikar when he’d asked whether or not she was a virgin. She was—and she didn’t fuck for the simple reason that her perpetual virginity was a job requirement for Odin’s Valkyrie handmaidens. The day she gave up her virginity was the day she lost her immortality and her place in Odin’s hall. It was the day the god would have to let her go.
Which was why she’d taken this job when Odin had offered. She would test the berserker’s control. She’d let him take her virginity along the way. Odin would set her free. Done deal.
Desert slipped by them as Vikar took the cycle off the highway, abandoning well-worn asphalt for dirt. The world around them changed slowly with every subtle shift of the sun overhead. Thick ridges of sand hid the occasional abandoned car half-consumed by the tumbleweeds and more drifts of sand.
Despite the sun and sand, it was winter out here in the desert. As the sun went down and Vegas’s artery of highway disappeared behind them, the falling temperature and the cold creeping through her body were all too familiar.
While she remained virgin, she retained her immortality and her ice-maiden status.
But not for long, and certainly not after tonight.
Vikar shifted, guiding the bike through a curve, and she flinched as arousal and shock hit her hard. Already she was warming up at his touch, feeling something besides the icy calm of her kind.
“We’ll find a place to hole up for night.” His voice was a raspy growl. “Desert isn’t such a good place to be after dark.”
“How long?” She’d promised to be willing—and she’d keep her promise. Maybe her berserkers would be slow and careful.
Or not.
“Half hour.” Pressed up against him as she was, she could feel him shrug. “Maybe an hour.”
She was running out of time.
###
Every time Vikar inhaled, Pure’s scent teased him. He was hard and had been since she’d looked up at him through the bars of her cage. It would take two days tops to get her ass to the California beach town she’d named as her desired destination. He’d spend the daylight hours moving them closer to the target—and his nights living out a lifetime of fantasies.
Two nights. No more.
He didn’t want to know, because her reasons had to be personal and non
e of his damned business, but part of him kept wondering why a woman like her was alone. And why she believed she needed to hire a troop of gods-damned berserker mercenaries to guide her through it all.
She sat stiffly behind him, obviously unused to the motorcycle, which was fine by him. She’d had him off balance since he’d first spotted her, so turnabout was fair play. He’d waited for the hesitation—hel, he’d been waiting for the screaming because he knew how human women felt about berserkers, and they weren’t wrong either. A berserker could tear a woman up if the man wasn’t careful.
Hel, even a woman in love had qualms about taking a berserker to bed.
He’d learned that truth the hard way, about an hour after Loki had completed his transformation and abandoned Vikar’s hall, leaving the inevitable chaos in his wake as Vikar’s men struggled to come to terms with what they’d become.
No amount of alcohol had erased that nightmarish night from his memory, and no matter how many heads he’d taken on countless battlefields since then, he’d always been cursed to remember. The hearth fires had lit up the mead hall like any other night, casting giant shadows on the walls as Vikar had sat sprawled at a table with his fellow warriors. That had been his life. Furs, drinking horns and weapons. Swapping stories before he retired to the big bed tucked away in an alcove where Astrid waited for him. She’d been the light in his darkness, someone soft and deliciously warm in a hard, viciously cold world.
As a widow, Astrid had recognized in Vikar a second chance, and he’d liked that. She, on the other hand, had been his first chance at a family. Maybe that family would have happened sooner rather than later because they’d devoted all of Vikar’s leisure hours to exploring their newfound passion together—and then Loki had arrived. Afterwards, Vikar had stumbled back to their bed, his new claws rending the leather curtain from the wall. Astrid had scrambled backwards, and he’d seen her through a haze of red. She’d screamed and screamed, his proud, strong Astrid, while he’d stood there, helpless despite his new strength and abilities. He couldn’t be her lover anymore because when she looked at him all she saw was the beast Loki had created.
And maybe she was right. She was mortal and he wasn’t.
She was human. He wasn’t.
So he’d let go of that dream, thrown himself into fighting.
The woman riding his bike claimed not to mind, though. The way she sat so straight was pure promise. The riders behind them had a ringside view of the beautiful line of her spine, the delicate bones marching straight up her back. Gripping the fingers of the black glove with his teeth, he tugged the soft leather off.
Would she feel as stiffly perfect as she looked, or would she be warm? Shoving the glove in his pocket, he raised his hand to find out. The bike didn’t give her the luxury of space, trapping her between the seat and his body. Her breath caught, a small, panicked gasp, as he traced the curve of her thigh with his bare finger. By the gods, she was impossibly flawless.
So why had she hired a berserker?
And why him?
Because, while she didn’t push away from his touch, she sure didn’t melt into it, either. He’d fucked his share of females, human and otherwise, and he knew the drill. A few touches and either nature or self-interest kicked in and his companion did the sigh-and-moan, oh-you’re-so-strong routine, and he was in. He’d never kidded himself that the sentiments were genuine, but all he’d wanted then was the pleasure. Pure was different, and not just because she was his.
Temporarily.
No, there was something about her, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Hel, he shouldn’t have been concerned about feelings at all. He was a mercenary, and the job description made his path here straightforward. He got paid to take what other people wanted. Pure was simply another job, even if the currency was more attractive than usual.
He inhaled, his bear already recognizing the scent of her clean skin. Sage and lavender. Old-fashioned. The woman sitting his bike like a damned queen smelled like an herb garden.
Did she taste as good as she smelled?
He dragged his thumb down her leg, testing the tension there. She wasn’t happy being here with him. Before tonight, he’d have bet his last blade that he wouldn’t have cared. That one more female, no matter how intriguing her scent, simply didn’t matter.
He was a berserker. He fought, he drank and he fucked. Hel, he’d been known to do all three in the space of the same hour. He’d enjoyed more than his fair share of lusty sex.
Pure didn’t know what she’d bargained for.
###
Pure was wrapped around Vikar’s body, pressed against his back. When that big hand moved deliberately from the handlebar to her thigh, she tensed before she could stop herself. Willing, she reminded herself. She’d agreed to this. The heat of that hand stroking a small circle on her thigh was unfamiliar but not unpleasant, and she relaxed. Let her head fall forward. He smelled of leather and male and beneath the coppery blood, a woodsy, outdoor scent. The sun was going down, dusk settling over the road and leaving the riders alone in a sea of shadows. Leaving her impossibly aware of that hand moving up her thigh. Her breath caught in a little whimper when his hand found and cupped her.
“Vikar.” She swallowed nervously, but there was nowhere to go.
“You promised,” he said roughly. “You agreed that you’d be willing.” He didn’t move, just touched her, waiting. “I agreed I wouldn’t hurt you. If I don’t touch you, you will be hurting, baby. I’m too big to take you if you’re not ready. So I’m going to touch you right now, just a little. Right here, on the outside of your pants.” His thumb made a slow, sensual pass down her sex.
She was wrapped around him, riding his bike. And she’d be riding him within the hour. She’d given him her word—now he was giving her his. He’d have what she’d promised, but he’d keep his part of their bargain, too. No pain. Uncertainly, she relaxed, the tension leaving her legs. Allowing him to take charge seemed wrong, but the motor’s smooth gait sent waves of delicious vibrations through her. And that damned hand of his didn’t move. She wriggled, rocking into him.
“See?” He whispered his question. “That’s not bad at all, is it? You could enjoy that much, couldn’t you?”
“Vikar…” The heavy, hot weight of his hand between her legs had her waiting for something she didn’t recognize.
“I bet,” he ground out, “you have fantasies, right? Maybe, when you’re alone at night and somewhere between the dream world and awake, maybe then you think about finding yourself a big, hard mercenary. Someone tough enough to give you exactly what you need.”
“I—” Her voice broke. Maybe indeed.
Unexpectedly, he offered her reassurance, the promise of a softer side she could reach. “I’m just going to give you pleasure now, and all you have to do is enjoy it. You can do that, can’t you?”
She could. “Yes,” she answered.
“Close your eyes,” he suggested. “While I stroke this soft pussy of yours.”
The rhythmic vibrations of the motor shuddered through her body, a reminder of where she was, but her eyelashes slipped down obediently as heat built inside her. She wasn’t sure where the arousal had come from, if it was his blunt words, the raw promise of unfamiliar pleasure, or the gentle, insistent glide of his thumb against her core.
“You know what you feel like, Pure? The heat of you burns me right through this leather, and I’m imagining you riding my fingers later tonight with nothing between us. You’ll like what I do to you.” He stroked her more firmly through the leather pants, and she shuddered, biting back the urge to move against that tormenting hand. She was an ice maiden.
She was not supposed to feel.
“You’re going to tell me, Pure,” he warned gruffly. “You’re going to tell me what you like and how we make you feel. That way, I keep my promise, no problem. You asked me not to hurt you, and I’m a man of my word.”
“I don’t usually feel much of anything,” she said, the
admission escaping before she could take it back.
“You don't feel anything?” She’d shocked him, she could hear it in his voice.
“Not particularly.” Lying was pointless. They’d made the deal, and he wouldn’t renege.
“And you’re fine with this?” Now he sounded vaguely outraged. Like her lack of pleasure offended him somehow.
“Of course.” His asking was a surprise. “It's an advantage really.”
He grunted noncommittally and stroked his finger across her. Again. Apparently he liked touching her, and as long as she didn't mind...
Her eyes narrowed. “How long will you keep doing that?”
“As long as I want.” His tone warned her he was enjoying himself—and that he had no intention of stopping.
Her breasts swelled, the nipples pebbling beneath the corslet. She wanted to unzip the jacket, drag his hands to where she was swollen and sensitive and aching. For a moment, she panicked. This wasn’t like her.
And yet her hands slid away from his waist to grip his thighs, kneading his flesh. He growled with male satisfaction in her ear. “Yeah,” he said. “You like that, don’t you, baby?”
“Willing,” she gritted out, the pleasure building where he touched her. “I promised I’d be willing. This willing enough for you?”
“Not yet.” He chuckled. “I’m going to make you so wet, you holler for us,” he warned darkly, letting his fingers slide up to the top of her pussy and circle her needy, hard clit. Not enough to bring her off, but enough to make his interest clear.
“I’m going to taste you here too tonight.” He drew her closer while he guided the bike to a slow, coasting stop with his other hand. “We’re done riding,” he said, and there was no mistaking the slow, dark smile creasing his face. “Time to pay up, Pure.”
Chapter Three
Vikings were pirates and plunderers.
Vikings took.
And nowhere was that more obvious than in Vikar’s camp. The smell of wood smoke and food cooking over the campfire was unexpectedly familiar. The men Vikar fought with, the men he roamed with and led, were parking their newly acquired bikes and unrolling sleeping bags. That wasn’t unexpected, either. Tattoos flashed, and loudly cheerful catcalls and teasing filled up the silence as the big, hairy brutes methodically stripped down the bikes and proceeded to make this slice of desert their own for the night. They ransacked the bags buckled to their seats. They turned out the leathers they’d stolen from the Hell’s Angels, comparing prizes and bickering amicably.